It shone in the way she moved, the firm set of her chin, the way her eyes flashed, revealing a hint of stubbornness she couldn’t quite hide. And there was something more, a sensuality that hid beneath the surface, a deeply rooted passion, he suspected. He was drawn to it, intrigued by the thought of exploring it.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had piqued his interest as Violet had, or stirred his lust in quite the same manner.
Perhaps it was the fact that she was his wife, the woman who would bear his sons and comfort him in his December years. Perhaps it was that he had married her, but never tasted the fruits of that marriage. She’d been a child back then. She wasn’t a child anymore.
Her image returned, Violet elegantly gowned in pale blue silk and charmingly asleep on his sofa. As he lay awake in the darkness, he imagined carrying her upstairs and undressing her, discovering, inch by inch, the treasure hidden beneath her clothes.
His body clenched and blood began to pool in his groin. He wanted her, this woman he had married.
He wasn’t ready to look beyond that. He was still trying to grasp the fact that he was a husband and in time might even become a father.
First things first, he thought, and found himself smiling. Violet was there and she was his wife. He had been searching for a woman and one had magically appeared on his doorstep.
Rule smiled into the darkness. It was only a matter of time before he could claim his husbandly rights.
Three
Violet came awake slowly and sat up rubbing her eyes. She glanced at the canopy above her head, at the robin’segg-blue walls, and tried to remember where she was.
Then it all came thundering back. London. A bedroom in Rule Dewar’s town house. Their conversation last night.
She spotted Caroline standing at the foot of the bed and jerked her gaze to the clock on the wall. “Oh, my goodness. I hadn’t intended sleeping so late.”
“You were exhausted. The trip was long and so was the evening, waiting for your husband to arrive.”
Violet made a sound of irritation in her throat. “I hate it when you call him that.”
Caroline laughed. “Well, he is—at least for the moment. Up with you, now. Mary will be here any moment to help you dress—and you had better do it swiftly. There is an army of servants waiting downstairs to greet the new Lady Rule.”
“Lady Rule? You’re jesting. That is who I am?”
“Apparently so.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
Caroline grinned. “It does, rather. But still…”
For the next half hour, Caroline and Mary helped Violet prepare to greet her husband and his staff. After that, she planned to deliver the news she had traveled so far to give him.
She and Caroline left the bedroom arm in arm, heading for the stairs.
“I have already seen him,” Caroline admitted. “I spoke to him this morning. I awakened earlier than you. I was hungry so I went downstairs. I passed him on the way to the breakfast room. I introduced myself and I think he actually remembered who I was.”
“You’re a woman. A man who looks like that must be used to having dozens of women fawning over him. He probably remembers every one.”
“I was only a girl when we met. At any rate, he was very polite.”
“He would be. It was another of the things my father liked about him.”
“Your father liked him a very good deal.”
“Yes, and look where that got me.”
Caroline said no more and as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Rule walked out of the hallway. He smiled, perfectly groomed head to foot, even after his late-night carousing.
“Good morning, ladies. I hope you slept well.”
“Well enough,” Violet said.
Servants began arriving, surrounding them where they stood at the bottom of the sweeping staircase. Awaiting Rule’s return last evening, Violet had acquainted herself a bit with the residence, noting that the interior was done with exquisite taste. Each of several drawing rooms and all of the guest rooms were elegantly furnished, as was the dining room. She’d had an odd sense that each piece had been personally selected to fit its surroundings.
The number of servants swelled by two more and Rule turned to face them. “Now that all of you are here, I would like to introduce you to my wife. I hope you will serve her as well as you have always served me.”
The servants all clapped and smiled. “Welcome, my lady,” said the housekeeper—Mrs. Digby, Violet recalled—speaking for the group. “Please let us know if there is anything you need.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Digby, I shall.”
“This is Miss Lockhart,” Rule said, “my wife’s cousin. Please make her comfortable during her visit.”
“Of course, my lord.” The housekeeper smiled broadly, clearly pleased her employer had taken a wife.
Violet ignored a twinge of guilt. She wished she could have avoided any pretense they were actually married, but after her arrival yesterday, there was simply no way around it.
“I believe Miss Lockhart has already eaten,” Rule said to Violet. “Perhaps you would allow me to join you in the breakfast room.”
She managed to smile. “Of course.”
“I noticed you’ve quite a collection of books,” Caroline said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to find myself something to read.”
“Please do. Books are meant to be enjoyed. Most of my collection is in the study.You’ll find other volumes scattered here and there. Feel free to borrow anything you wish.”
“Thank you.” Caroline floated off down the hall and Rule presented his arm.
“Shall we?”
Violet tried not to notice that he looked even better this morning than he had last night, his eyes no longer sleepy, but an alert, brilliant blue. His cravat was perfectly tied, his navy-blue tailcoat tailored to fit his very wide shoulders. The faint shadow of beard was gone, which had given him an attractive roguish look, and she rather missed the sight of his suntanned throat above the open V of his shirt.
“My lady?”
It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for her to accept his escort down the hall to the breakfast room. From the corner of her eye, she caught Caroline’s grin the instant before she disappeared into the study.
She returned her attention to Rule. “I would rather you call me Violet. I am not used to your English forms of address.”
He gave a brief nod of his head. His wavy black hair was a little longer than she remembered and she had the oddest urge to run her fingers through it.
Rule smiled. “Then Violet it shall be—as long as you call me Rule.”
She wasn’t about to address him as his lordship, so conceding was easy. “All right.” She took the arm he offered and let him guide her along the hallway to a sunny room at the rear of the house that overlooked the garden. It was done in shades of moss-green accented with rose.
Rule seated her at an ornate rosewood table, then went over to the sideboard and filled two porcelain plates from a row of steaming silver chafing dishes.
Awaiting